


A Seductive Revenge

by Neurotoxia



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Alcohol, Bad Ideas, Break Up, Captivity, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Heartbreak, M/M, Mills & Boon Summaries, Revenge, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-31
Updated: 2015-03-24
Packaged: 2018-01-27 18:05:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1718570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neurotoxia/pseuds/Neurotoxia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reno has a broken heart and thinks there's only one way to mend it; he plans to seduce Tseng and then jilt him. But he doesn't expect to find it so difficult to walk away...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2014 round of [Unconventional Courtship](http://unconventionalcourtship.dreamwidth.org/) and based on the summary and title given above. 
> 
> As usual, my brain took the prompt and ran away with it, which is why I only have one chapter up so far ~~(there weren't supposed to be multiple chapters when I first started...)~~. Anyway, I hope to have all of this up in a timely manner.

Reno’s newest objective was alcohol. Immediate and in large quantities. Because that was the only way to somehow turn this absolute shit day into barely tolerable. And Rude and Cissnei were to help him secure his goal.

Rude, in his endless foresight, had selected a bar far away from their usual waterhole. No one on Shinra’s payroll needed to see the third-in-command of the Turks getting pissed in the middle of the day. That’s how they ended up in an alley in the Sector 3 slums in front of a pub that looked like it had been built eons ago: the paint was peeling off, the neon sign only half-lit and the windows caked with enough dirt to make them appear tinted. It looked perfect for his purpose.

Also, Rude possesses the great gift of silence. He gets the booze without Reno having to ask for it. Doesn’t ask why Reno needs to drink. Well, Rude never talks much on the best of days, but usually, Reno natters on enough to make up for it.

Cissnei’s presence was more or less coincidence since she had just happened to be in the break room to witness Reno ranting at the coffee maker. The rant had been prompted by the machine’s demand to have its grounds container emptied, but it had soon derailed into a completely unrelated tirade about demands and attitudes.

It was at her suggestion that Rude cashed in a couple hours of overtime to get them off early, but insisted that she joined them. Reno hadn’t commented on being dragged to a bar far off the usual Shinra employee grid four hours before their shift officially ended. And Reno always commented. He needed the last word in everything. To be bundled off without as much as a quip was sure to let Rude and Cissnei know that something was off. Something beyond the mere fact of it being a bad day.

Reno and Cissnei had squeezed into one of the booths in the dim pub. Stale cigarette smoke hung in the air, curling under the dark lamp shades. A few television screens above the counter showed last night’s Chocobo race. This early in the day, there were few other patrons and the ones present kept their distance. Their suits made everyone with a minimum of functioning brain cells wary. No one was eager to get on a Turk’s bad side. 

Reno dug a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his pockets and lit one, this time entirely unable to care that Cissnei hated the smell. She scrunched her nose up a bit but didn’t protest. Reno had the sudden urge to blow the smoke into her face to get a rise out of her. He itched for a fight.

Rude came back before Reno could put the idea into action. Double shot of whiskey for Reno, soda for him and Cissnei.

“You make me look like a fucking alcoholic,” Reno grumbled as he picked up the glass (which didn’t look like it had been cleaned since the last customer had drunk from it) and downed the whiskey in a single gulp.

“Somebody has to haul your sorry arse home later,” Rude retorted while Cissnei squeezed out the slice of lemon that swam in her glass.

“Prick,” Reno murmured and upended the glass to catch the last few drops. The whiskey was shit, but he couldn’t care less. His objective was getting drunk, not enjoying the way of getting there.

This time it was Cissnei who got up and went to the bar, returning with the whole bottle of Ifrit Fine Whiskey (there was _nothing_ fine about that ghastly swill) and Reno contemplated kissing her for the foresight. Why had he ever wanted to fight her?

At the first third of the bottle, Reno was still irrationally angry, raving at everything and everyone. Rude was on his second glass of soda, grunting in various places in the conversation. Cissnei had swapped the water for pineapple juice and still attempted to follow Reno’s ramblings.

At the second third, Reno became quieter and stopped snapping at every turn. Rude had allowed himself a pint of beer because there was no way he could keep doing this without alcohol in his system. Cissnei had stopped asking questions ten minutes ago when Reno had stopped answering them, even vaguely.

The last third, Reno didn’t remember.

He had woken up fully clothed on his bed with a splitting headache and the sour, foul taste of shit alcohol in his mouth. That he had managed to drag himself from the bedroom to the bathroom and then to Shinra Tower was nothing short of a miracle. And now that he was sitting at his desk, he wanted the floor to open and swallow him whole.

Reno had no idea what came out of his mouth last night, but it had likely been awful. The way Cissnei looked at him this morning was almost pitiful. And she never looked at him with sympathy, particularly if he'd got piss drunk the day before.

Chances were he had spilled everything. Or at least enough that Cissnei knew what his mood had been about. Rude had probably known, even if Reno had never told him. Rude was observant and around him way too often not to have known. Or at least strongly suspect.

Would explain why Cissnei looked so uncomfortable. She knew Zack bloody Fair pretty well.

Zack. Yeah, no. Better not go there. Best to shut it in a box and ship it off to a very dusty and dark corner of his mind. Because if he thought about it too much, he'd likely take his baton and club every blond SOLDIER cadet over the head until he got the right one. Cloud or whatever the fuck his stupid name was.

Reno grabbed his tablet from the desk where he had been nursing his pounding head for the last fifteen minutes and pulled up the Shinra Database. He knew it was an idiotic idea, but he had to see the face of the kid he got unceremoniously dumped for. 

Lucky enough, there was only a single cadet by the name of Cloud and Reno narrowed his eyes at the photo popping up on the screen. Cloud Strife, born in Nibelheim. Wasn't that the shithole where they had built the first reactor? Reno hadn't paid much attention to the company history. He was a couple of years younger than Reno, with spiky blonde hair and blue eyes. Reno felt like in a bad movie: Swapped for the younger, cuter lover (potential lover? Reno had no idea if Zack had at least had the decency to cut him loose before he'd slept with the kid).

Bastard.

That's what Reno got for being serious about someone for once. God, he needed some aspirin. And then some darts and a printout of Zack's and Cloud's faces.

What he got was a near heart attack in the guise of Tseng who'd snuck up on him through the open office door and now leant over his shoulder, breathing down his neck. (Bloody man moved quieter than a cat, but his aftershave was rather nice)

“Why are you staring at pictures instead of working? You haven’t lifted a finger since you punched in,” Tseng asked with a heavy tone of disapproval.

“I…” Reno started, brain lagging too much to come up with a credible excuse before Tseng has analysed him with a razor-sharp once-over from his catlike eyes.

“I don’t care about your obvious hangover. Get yourself together. And leave your damn private problems at home, I don’t have the time to stroke your bruised ego,” Tseng hissed at him and for a moment, Reno wanted nothing more than suckerpunch him.

“No one asked you to,” Reno snapped back.

Great, even Tseng knew what was going on. Reno hated office gossip. Okay, not really. He was usually the first to participate. The only consolation was that it seemed no one knew who had broken up with him. Which was better that way, because he'd get an earful for consorting with SOLDIER in the first place. The Turks and the SOLDIER programme had something of a longstanding intra-company rivalry.

"Now stop mooning and write that report I've been asking for for two weeks," Tseng demanded with a stern look and stalked off again, leaving Reno to boil in quiet irritation.

"Wanker," Reno muttered after Tseng was outside hearing range. Normally, he respected the man (admired him, even. And not just his backside when Reno had first joined the Turks), but today he wasn't in the mood to respect anyone. Even bloody Sephiroth could go hang for all he cared.

"Eat the aspirin and quit whining," Rude said from his desk.

"It's all your fault," Reno moaned and took more painkillers from the bottle than was strictly necessary. "You gave me alcohol in the first place."

"I don't remember telling you to drink a whole bottle of shit whiskey," Rude retorted without missing a beat.

"I hate you," Reno muttered and massaged his temples.

Behind his computer screen, Rude snorted. "No, you don't."

"Fuck off," Reno said with a smirk and turned to face the report he owed Tseng.

* * *

Tseng was less than impressed with the report, it seemed, since Reno received a stern summon to his office half an hour after he'd sent the thing. 

Just what he needed.

He put it off as long as he reasonably could without making Tseng even angrier (ten minutes for a cigarette and doughnut to steel his nerves) and knocked on the office door with a looming impression that this conversation was unlikely to make his day any better. Worse, if anything.

It was the dressing down Reno had expected. Tseng must have bit into a particularly sour lemon this morning, because while he usually reprimanded Reno for handing in sloppy reports, he didn’t fly off the handle like today. Tseng rarely flipped anymore these days — the temper of his younger self was legendary among the senior officers — but today, he was in fine form.

Reno was surprised Tseng hadn’t hit him over the head with the tablet computer on his desk yet. 

“This is not acceptable, Reno! That is the kind of report I wouldn’t even expect from a rookie in their first week! You know better than this and you can do better than this. You may think that reports are beneath you and I’m lenient enough as it is but I won’t have anyone question whether it was a good idea that I insisted they promote you!”

Ah. Tseng was pissed because it would make him look bad. Reno usually knew better than to push back, because Tseng had a habit of unleashing his fury when poked with a sharp stick, but it was impossible to resist.

“Can’t a guy have a bad day?”

Tseng banged his fist on the desk, making the utensils on it rattle. His eyes glittered dangerously. If looks could kill, Reno would be a dead man. It was the kind of look that had made Reno cower at the beginning of his career (and admittedly, it had also made him horny: he’d had a bit of a crush on Tseng as a rookie)

"Don't let emotions interfere with your work! We can't let sentiment rule our head and you know that. Don't get attached! You've been here long enough to see it's the truth."

In a more rational state, Reno might have agreed with Tseng's words in theory. Caring easily got you killed in this job. Hesitation or distraction were the fastest ways to catch a bullet to the head. Forming attachments wasn't a good idea because you never knew who you might have to shoot someday. Could be your own mother if the President fancied having her wiped off the face of the planet.

"Get yourself together or I'll have to inform Veld."

Reno nearly spluttered. Veld would no doubt suspend him until he ‘got his mind in order.' That was the last thing he needed, Veld on his case. The man wasn’t Reno’s biggest fan for some reason.Tseng was a walk in the park compared to their commander.

"Shiva's tits, Tseng. I'm fine."

"Then get lost and do your job!” Tseng said and stared Reno down until he’d closed the door behind him.

Outside the office, Reno punched the vending machine for good measure, just so he wouldn't bite the next person's head off. A package of peanuts fell from its place on the top shelf and Reno fished it from the slot at the bottom. The theft was petty, but it still felt like a small victory.

"Bastard should be dumped like that sometime, see how he likes that," Reno hissed to himself as he slammed shut the door to his own office, pointedly empty. Rude must have wandered off in anticipation of Reno’s foul mood upon return. Arse. Not even there to be ranted at when you needed him.

* * *

The idea persisted.

He'd said it without it meaning much, but it wouldn't leave him alone for the whole day. Tseng might think himself invincible when it came to sentiment, but he really wasn't. You might have to cut a finger off before Tseng would admit that he cared about the members of the Turks, but it was obvious he did. It was always written across his face whenever they returned from dangerous missions and hadn't lost anyone: relief that he wouldn’t need to attend yet another funeral.

The senior Turks were as close as it could get to a family and Tseng didn't have any blood relatives anymore (or if he did, he had no contact with them). The Turks were his family. Reno knew this was true because it was the same for him. The dysfunctional bunch of hired spies, bodyguards and assassins was the only thing he could remotely call family. They might take a bullet for the President because they had to (and they were keen to protect their meal ticket), but they'd take a bullet for each other without any threat or incentive needed.

Reno was sure that even his smooth, cold vice-commander couldn’t remain unaffected if he was hurt by someone he cared about. By one of those closest to him. He had half a mind to teach him that lesson himself.

Theoretically, it was possible: he was pretty certain Tseng wasn’t straight; he’d seen him speak to a male prostitute in the Loveless District once. Off the clock. Which in itself wasn’t spectacular; many of the Turks preferred one-night-stands and prostitutes over dating — their job wasn’t exactly conductive to settling down and raising a family. Reno himself usually stuck with uncomplicated arrangements that didn’t require him to lie about his job as corporate assassin.

Unless it was Zack bloody Fair. God, he needed to take his mind off the wanker. 

He looked at his computer again, the screen still showing Tseng’s summon. Reno watched the blinking cursor next to his boss’ name, mind wandering back to the nagging need to show the man and take his mind off Zack. To turn the tables and be the one in control.

Maybe…he could hit two chocobos with one stone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for the considerable wait for this one. The distractions were plentiful but I got there in the end.

When Reno got an urge, it would niggle in the back of his mind and not leave him alone. Rude had developed a knack for anticipating Reno’s budding obsessions and act accordingly to limit the impending damage. His partner had already told him twice to abandon whatever bullshit idea he was hatching before it had really formed in his mind. In this partnership, the bald, bouncer-type guy with a penchant for fiddling with explosives was the voice of reason. It said a lot about Reno’s sanity. 

"Why would I be hatching a bullshit idea?"

"Because that's the kind of face you make when you get an idea you think is brilliant and it turns out to be stupid, dangerous, or both," Rude grunted, arranging the parts of his disassembled gun on his desk.

"What face?" Reno turned to look at his reflection in the glass door behind him. "That's my normal face, you dick."

Naturally, Rude’s attempt at dissuasion only served to egg Reno on.

Coming up with a plan wasn’t really that difficult, putting it into action was the sticky bit. Reno was more the action type, but this one required more cunning. His skill set wasn't quite in the area of seduction. Not that he didn't know how to charm information out of unsuspecting victims, but Tseng was aware of all his tricks (hell, he'd taught Reno most of them) and as frigid as a snow-capped mountain. Batting his eyelashes wouldn't get him anywhere. Bugger. 

The real problem was subtlety. It wasn’t Reno’s strongest suit, but a requirement here. He couldn’t just barge through Tseng’s office door and suggest they hook up. (Imagining that was hilarious, until he remembered it would most likely end with Tseng tearing him a new one.)

Although he did barge into Tseng’s office more often than usual lately, or so it seemed. Sometimes, he didn’t even know what Tseng was pulling him in for. At first, he thought Tseng would give him a lecture about inappropriate behaviour when Reno had laid on the flirtation thick, flinging as many suggestive remarks at Tseng as he thought he could get away with. But the lecture never came. Instead Tseng called upon him for – and Reno couldn’t call it anything else – bullshit, really. Clarifications for reports that could have been requested via email, going over training schedules for the rookies, some of which Reno wasn’t even responsible for. Was that Tseng’s way of punishment, forcing him to spend hours in front of Tseng’s desk? Because that would be crap punishment – if Tseng wasn’t yelling at you, being in an office with him wasn’t exactly a hardship. Reno was seriously weirded out when Tseng wanted him for a strategy discussion, first with Veld in tow and later with just Tseng. Reno never discussed strategy, he was just the monkey performing tricks as ordered. 

“Another meeting with Tseng?” Cissnei asked him one day when she happened upon Reno pulling Tseng’s door closed behind him.

“Yeah,” Reno replied. “I feel like I spend half the day in Tseng’s office lately. And he hasn’t yelled at me for weeks, it’s creepy.”

“Maybe he wants you to take more responsibility?” she suggested, slotting a couple of Gil into the vending machine in the hall. “You’re supposed to become his second when he takes over from Veld.”

She pressed the button for a packet of Wall Market Crisps and Reno considered her words while he watched the bag drop from its place on the shelf into the slot.

“You think so?” Sometimes, he wasn’t sure Tseng really wanted him as his right hand. They were complete opposites as far as personalities went. Before, Reno expected Rude taking second-in-command one day.

“Well, best start early,” Cissnei said and fished her crisps from the machine. “It could happen faster than we think. Tseng’s sure you’re the best man for the job, so you have to be ready.”

It sort of made sense. Tseng is adamant that for whatever the reason he wanted Reno in a commanding position. He wasn’t fooled by Reno’s lazy sleazeball persona. Which was flattering if you thought about it. If Tseng had decided he wanted to groom Reno into second-in-command from now on, it would explain why he was suddenly discussing training schedules and strategy with him. 

Still, for all the time he spent in close quarters with the man, the most action he’d got out of it were accidental brushes of their fingers when Tseng would hand over a cup of coffee or a piece of paper. Not ideal, even if it could be considered a leap with a guy as stuck up as Tseng. He didn’t have the patience to dance around Tseng.

Maybe a bit of alcohol would loosen Tseng up? He became more talkative after he'd had a couple of drinks. Reno thought he would make sure that Tseng joined the next round of after-hour drinks they had once a week. It would require a heavy round of convincing on his part, because Tseng didn’t come along often, thinking that a commanding officer shouldn’t mix with the underlings too much. Which was not good enough a reason to stop Reno from trying.

Just when he’d thought he might have convinced Tseng to mingle, Shinra had foiled his plans. A high profile mission from the President himself had taken Tseng out of Midgar a day before their weekly drinks, much to Reno's chagrin. The mission was expected to run for a while; some nonsense about the retrieval of sensitive documents. Which probably meant infiltrating a rival organisation, abandoning and torturing some unlucky bastard until they broke and spilled the beans. Why did Tseng get to have all the fun?

Tseng was expected to radio in every three days, or give them some other sign the mission was still on and he wasn’t dead in a ditch somewhere. That went well the first two times, but now it was four days since Tseng’s last signal. Generally nothing good could come of that.

Day five, Reno was too fidgety to work and kept playing Minesweeper to distract himself. Even Rude was worried, considering that he spent more time staring at the phone and the radio than attempting to work.

The call from Veld came at 11:37, informing Reno that he’d have to go to Rocket Town to check on the state of the mission. Which was Veld-speak for ‘find out if Tseng is still alive and if not, return the corpse.’ Reno didn’t even finish his doughnut before he ran for his helicopter, heading for Rocket Town. At least they knew Tseng had last made contact from some place on the outskirts. Old industrial lot with a number of derelict plots around it. 

He hoped he wouldn’t have to grill somebody to find Tseng. The windows on the upper floor of the building were covered with bars and tinted glass. If the place didn’t have a proper basement, the top floor would be where he’d hold prisoners. Seven storeys up, you couldn’t just jump from a window or swagger down the stairs. Reno had banished the possibility of Tseng being dead from his mind – the boss was like a damn cat with at least thirteen lives. 

The entrance would be guarded or covered by surveillance, so the only way to go was up. Good thing he could scale almost any surface with minimal equipment and maximum speed. This one looked like a cakewalk: bricks and stonework. He wouldn’t even need a rope.

Five minutes later, Reno hit the top of the slippery ledge, covered by moss, lichens and autumn humidity. The gravel on the roof had the same greenish hue as the ledge and was undisturbed. It didn’t look like the roof was used much. Good, he didn’t fancy throwing someone off because they came up for a smoke. Killing took time he couldn’t afford. After he’d made sure the door to the inside wasn’t rigged to an alarm, Reno let himself in with a crowbar. The stairwell was deserted, only an emergency light was on, radiating its dim yellow glow off grey-washed concrete walls. He slithered down a set of stairs, EMR ready and charged. The gun he’d only draw if he ran into more than three people at once. Guns were messy, particularly if you wanted a silent extraction. 

A heavy duty door separated him from the top level. Locked, of course. He couldn’t expect them to be entirely stupid, and didn’t need them to be either, since lockpicking was one of his more useful slum rat skills. Reno would have to be prepared for engaging – he suspected at least one guard on this floor. When the lock clicked open, he pulled his knife from the sheath strapped to his calf and tried to fit himself through the opening without pushing the door open further. No luck there, the hinges groaned and Reno wanted to do the same. On the upside, the guards would come to him now.

As expected, one of them rounded the corner that second, gun drawn and ready to shout for backup when he glimpsed Reno. Reno aimed and threw the knife, hitting the guard square in the throat. Blood spurted from around the hilt of the blade. He’d nicked the artery. An ugly gurgling sound later, he dropped on the grimy lino floor, blood already pooling under his neck and seeping into his white shirt. A second pair of footfalls drew closer, so Reno hid behind the corner. The corridor was thankfully as dark as the stairwell, allowing him to lurk in the shadow until the second guard was close enough for him to grab and disarm. The gun clattered to the ground, Reno wrenching the lanky man in a choke hold with the EMR across his throat, its low current sizzling in the quiet hall.

“One wrong move and I’ll fry your jugular, pal. We clear?” Reno hissed. “I’m looking for a prisoner: 185 centimetres, Wutaian, long hair.”

“That Shinra bastard?” the guard growled.

“That one,” Reno confirmed, holding the EMR closer to the man’s throat again. How did they even know Tseng had been sent by Shinra? “Where is he?”

“Like I’m tellin’ you.”

Reno changed his hold, locking the guard’s neck in a threatening position. “Listen, yo. I’ve got zero patience for this shit. I can snap your sorry neck and go through every cell myself or you can tell me and I let you live.”

The guard went stiff, realising now that Reno wasn’t just making empty threats. “Second door to the right,” he relented.

“Good boy,” Reno smirked and pressed the button for maximum power on his EMR. The air crackled with the sharp snap of electricity and the guard crumpled to the floor, the smell of burnt flesh permeating the air. 

“Fucking idiot,” Reno murmured, plucking the keycard from the guard’s belt and the knife from the other’s throat.

He marched down the corridor and swiped the card through the lock on the door. The LED switched from red to green and the mechanism clicked. Reno pushed the steel door open, letting some light filter into the otherwise dark room. 

“You takin’ a holiday, Tseng?” he asked with a smirk, making Tseng’s head snap up. He looked unkempt and he had a black and purple bruise blooming on his cheekbone. His shirt had a tear at the upper sleeve and some flecks of blood dotted over it. Tseng’s wrists were cuffed tightly (too tightly to get out without losing both hands, smart) and chained to the wall. Not the best position Tseng had ever been in for sure. 

“Reno,” Tseng breathed, relief detectable in his voice.

“Seriously, boss,” Reno chided and crouched down next to Tseng. “Getting caught by the enemy? I’m disappointed.” The latter, he said with a smirk, earning him a scowl.

Reno inspected the lock on the cuffs and got out his picks. The lock wasn’t cheap, not something you could open with a hairpin or bits of debris. They seemed to have known that a good pair of cuffs could go a long way to trap a Turk.

“Somebody ratted me out,” Tseng hissed. “They knew right from the start who I was and they just left me alone for the first few days to catch me on the back foot.”

“Seriously?” Reno looked up from his work on the lock. If Tseng had the impression, too, something was definitely off. 

“Someone is feeding terrorists and rivals with information and money. How is it that a small group of nuisances like AVALANCHE suddenly turn up with high-grade weaponry in places they shouldn’t even know about? How does an underground mobster suddenly know I’m trying to infiltrate? Put two and two together, Reno!”

“For Ifrit’s sake, hold still,” Reno hisses. “We haven’t got forever here.”

No surprise Tseng was so annoyed if he’d got into this mess on someone else’s account. The bastard should start praying to the Ancients for protection because if Tseng ever got their hands on them, it wouldn’t be pretty.

Finally, the cuffs fell open and Reno could hear Tseng’s breath of relief. His wrists were raw and chafed. Infected, too by the looks of it. 

“I only got a small potion on me,” Reno said and pulled a vial from his jacket. “But I guess that should do it to get you back on your feet long enough to get outta here.”

Tseng downed the potion in one gulp. Some of the pain and exhaustion lifted from his face and he slowly got to his feet. Reno put a steadying hand on Tseng’s elbow until he was sure Tseng could stand on his own.

“You good to get out by yourself?” Reno asked. “Because carrying you would be a pain in the arse.”

“Shut up and give me your knife. They took my weapons when they locked me in here.” 

Reno grumbled, but pressed the hilt of his knife into Tseng’s open hand. 

“You came in through the roof?” Tseng asked.

“Yeah.”

“Let’s go then,” Tseng said and marched ahead.

Together, they moved the bodies into Tseng’s cell and locked it again, making Reno’s break-in less obvious at first glance. Afterwards, they creeped back onto the roof without encountering anyone else. Reno was willing to bet the ones supposed to be on duty at night were sitting in some lounge in the building getting pissed and playing cards. Tseng was too weak to climb down the building unassisted (not that he’d admit it), so Reno helped him down, slowly letting the rope glide through his fingers while they were pressed chest to chest. Not the worst position to be in – even if Tseng could use a long shower – it reminded him of the little incident at the gym two weeks ago, the one where Reno first got conclusive evidence there might actually be a chance to get into Tseng’s pants.

They’d been sparring, Tseng the only one of them who could match Reno for agility. If Reno wanted to spar for strength, he went for Rude and there was this rookie Elena who was promising as far as speed went. Tseng had already done ten kilometres on the treadmill before they’d gone for the mats, but that had hardly made it any easier for Reno. He might be faster, but Tseng was more inventive and not above playing dirty. They’d grappled and kicked and swung at each other, Tseng landing a kick to his ribs hard enough to bruise later. Reno had used the momentum to swipe Tseng’s leg out from under him, but he’d still been reeling too much from Tseng’s kick to get out of the way in time. It had given Tseng ample opportunity to grab Reno and take him down with him, which was how Reno had found himself under Tseng, arms pinned to the mats above his head. 

Tseng had sat across his lap, using his legs to pin Reno’s to the floor. The air had hummed with the tension between them, their heaving breaths the only sound to break the silence. Tseng had fixed Reno with a gaze so fierce, Reno wasn’t sure he’d ever seen it on him before. A strand of hair had come loose from Tseng’s high ponytail and had fallen forward, nearly touching Reno’s face. Reno had still been wound up, but he hadn’t been fighting Tseng’s grip, instead watching Tseng’s face inch closer. Reno had swallowed past a lump in his throat, suddenly feeling equal parts nervous and excited. Finally.

Just at that moment, a gaggle of rookies had chosen to barge into the gym, precisely on time for their training session with Reno. Tseng had pulled back as if burnt, letting go of Reno and climbing back to his feet. With a stern nod to the rookies, he’d stepped through the ropes of the ring and disappeared in the changing rooms. All the while, Reno had remained in the position on the mats, dumbfounded by the sudden abortion of what he’d been hoping for for for weeks now. Leviathan knew when he’d get another chance like this. Goddamn rookies.

“What are you standing around for? Warm up!” he’d bellowed while he’d sat up, making the group jump.

He’d never worked them so hard as he had that day. At the end, two had nearly passed out from exhaustion and another three had been close to tears and Reno hadn’t cared one bit.

Reno was still annoyed at them. Now was not the time to wallow in grudges though. They needed to get away. No alarms had gone off yet, but Reno still didn’t want to push their luck. The helicopter was a kilometre from the city and he couldn’t be sure when they’d notice that two guards had gone off the grid. Reno hadn’t had time to study the guard patterns, schedules and changeovers, this was basically winging it. 

Tseng winced when they touched down on the ground, but gritted his teeth against the pain. No surprise there, given the state he was in. Reno thought his ribs might be cracked, not to mention all the other aches Tseng must be feeling. 

“We gotta head a kilometre north-west now, there wasn’t anywhere else to bring down the copter without kicking up a fuss. Can you run?”

“I’ll have to run, whether I am able to or not,” Tseng said and waved Reno’s concerns away, turning in the direction of the surrounding forest.

“I’m not carrying you if you pass out,” Reno grumbled and fell into step with Tseng, weaving through the undergrowth at a steady pace. The potion was starting to wear off, Tseng’s injuries were too extensive to be held at bay with it. He should have brought the more potent stuff or Cure. But that’s what you got if you ran to the helicopter without thinking what to take with you.

Around the halfway mark, Reno heard a siren going off, raising alarm. And it didn’t sound like the fire bell.

“Shit,” he groaned.

“We need to move fast,” Tseng said, not looking back. “They have dogs that make Dark Nation look like a mild-mannered puppy.”

“Oh great,” Reno sneered. Rufus’ ridiculous pet was a vicious bastard on a good day. “Move it then, old man.”

“You’re three months older than me,” Tseng quipped, but sped up all the same. Reno hadn’t even known he was actually older than Tseng. Most people in the tower thought Tseng to be about Rude’s age, but Reno had always suspected it was closer to his. Tseng just liked to act mature and fool people with it. 

Reno could already see the helicopter when the sounds of a party on their tails grew closer. They could make it. He threw the hold door open and Tseng jumped in, collapsing into the co-pilot seat, while Reno pulled his headset on and flipped the switches, bringing the helicopter to life. The helicopter lifted off the ground in a swift movement, finally getting them out of immediate reach. Unless they brought nasty things along, they were now a whole lot safer. Reno radioed in to air traffic, putting their arrival on high priority and order the tower to make everyone who wasn’t the President stay the hell out of their route. 

At the back of the aircraft, they heard the telltale clink of small bullets clipping the armour. Small calibre, too weak to break through. Looks like they didn’t bring Materia or RPGs. Idiots. 

Reno entered the coordinates for Shinra Tower and let the autopilot take over for a moment, reaching behind his seat to pull a bottle of Lifestream Electrolyte (didn’t contain any Mako, just had same eerie green colour) and a packet of cashews from the box there. He pressed the items into Tseng’s hands with a stern glance and asked Voice Control to put Veld on the line – it was always best to let the commander know as early as possible. He might appreciate knowing he wouldn’t bring Tseng in a body bag. While he regained control of the helicopter and listened to the dial tone in his headphones, he watched Tseng twist the cap off the squeeze bottle and take long gulps of the drink he usually called vile whenever he saw Reno down it. 

“Reno?” came Veld’s voice through the crack of static.

“Got him,” Reno said without much preamble. “ETA in ten. Get the infirmary ready. Nothing life-threatening as far as I can tell, but he’s been in better shape.”

“I’ll let them know,” Veld said, not quite covering up the relief seeping through his tone. Hard he may be on them, but he cared. “Good job, Reno.”

“Thanks, boss.”

Ten minutes later, Reno helped Tseng from the helipad to the infirmary. The potion had worn off during the flight, but a helping of Cure wasn’t far now. Reno had to sling an arm around Tseng’s waist to keep him upright. Rare, that. Tseng had a tendency to resist any and all forms of obvious help, even if he was more or less crawling, the prideful bastard. He must be exhausted as hell to let Reno support him in public. 

Two nurses were already waiting for them at the entrance to the medical ward, quickly letting go of the wheelchair they had brought when they caught sight of Tseng’s glare in their direction. Reno had to suppress a giggle.

“I gotta report to Veld while they patch you up,” Reno said and unwound his arm from around Tseng’s waist.

“Thanks, Reno,” Tseng replied and squeezed his shoulder. “I owe you.”

“Buy me a glass of nice whiskey and we’ll call it even,” Reno smirked, sensing the opportunity.

Tseng gave a rare chuckle. “Alright. I will.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Reno grinned and sauntered off towards the lift, twirling his mag-rod between his fingers, causing one of the accountants to jump to the side in attempt not to get hit in the head with it. Not that Reno would have cared if he had.

He’d just scored a date with Tseng. Fucking finally.


End file.
